I’d been seeing the therapist for 8 months. He was helpful. He was nice and attentive, and that contributed to me trusting him.
I had been living in distress trying hard to avoid memories and feelings and thoughts surrounding a particular traumatic rape by two men when I was a preteen. I had never uttered anything about this event to anyone ever. (It is complicated because it led to some life-changing situations that lasted for decades & even going on now) I went into the sessions week after week for 4 months trying to tell the traumatic story and I would end up just sitting there completely unable to speak. The words would just freeze in my throat and I'd say nothing.
The kind therapist would say things like, "evenutally you will tell me." On other days he’d say, "I'm patient, but I'm a short-term therapist so I can't be patient forever." One day at the psychiatrist office I had a full-on movie-style flashback of the traumatic event because of the way the office is configured and something that happened that triggered me. That intrusive memory was coarsing through me at a 1,000 volts of electricity for about a month leading up to the appointment that I originally posted about above at the beginning of this thread.
He had been very late 4 times in row; very late. Sessions are 45 minutes sharp and he came out after I had been waiting for 15 minutes very anxious about sharing the traumatic event. I write about that session above. I was so confused and taken aback when he looked at me and said because of my mood he wouldn’t talk to me further in that session.
So after posting here on myptsd and some suggestions to bring it up to him at the next session, I decided I would go the next session and tell him how I was feeling and talk with him about my thoughts. I went to the next session (after the original post above) with a bullet point list of questions to ask before I shared the trauma.
The list included telling the therapist I needed a lot of encouraging words said to me in order to continue trying to share. I needed to hear that it was hard work to try and do therapy and I needed to hear from him things like "good job , keep trying," and "this is hard, I understand." I was trying to ask for that. I was so nervous to share the trauma and so nervous to ask for help. So nervous to ask for assurance that I was, indeed, welcome and that his tardiness was not an indication of procrastinating to see me.
I wanted to bring up how I felt when he said because of my mood (I was upset) that he wouldn’t talk to me. So, I brought up the first two points and he jumped backwards in his seat and said,, "no one who knows me would ever say these things about me!" I was REALLY very confused when he said that--what things was I saying? He then commanded, "You need to hurry up and share your trauma now! You are running out of time!" He was stiff & his face not friendly (at all).
I really wanted to please him and obey any rules, so quickly said, "ok," and abandoned any idea of trying to get an understanding of the previous session. I forced myself to hand him another paper I had written details about the traumatic events that "set up" the trauma. I set up the storyline in writing on this paper. I handed him the paper and said, "here you can read this--but I can't tell you the details of the middle part yet, but after you read this, I will tell you the end part where I have strong memories."
He read it and when finished he looked at me and then I spit out the words: "so the last thing I remember is me crawling away on my hands and knees into the bathroom and laying down against the door so they couldn't get in. And they were pushing on the door against my body and I could see their laughing faces through the crack of the door," I literally spit those words out quickly while leaning forward in my chair, with no eye contact. He responded immediately, "So what? - he raped you."
—silence…… (it really sounded like he spoke it in a tone that meant: "big deal. so what" (I was stunned. I felt slapped. I about died inside)
He shook the paper in his hand, (I was now looking at him) and he said "is this what has taken you four months to tell me?" I said, "Yes." He responded, "Why did you want to tell me this?" His tone was demanding. I was just struck in my heart at the question--I was bewildered.
My mind raced with the thoughts, weren't we doing therapy? While my mind raced for an answer he said, "Well... I imagine that you want to be unburdened by it. I imagine that you would want to receive care. But I can't give that to you because you cause me stress. You cause me distress. " Then he glared at me.s
All the humiliating emotions of the trauma were tangibly hanging in the air, I looked at him so bewildered. He started pointing into the air with his two index fingers and said, "You are here,- you are there- you are over here. Sessions with you are difficult-- you are always all over the place." Then he dropped his arms and looked at me with disgust. He started counting on his fingers saying, "1.) the level of anxiety you have is stressful for me, 2.) the level of distress you are in. … (silence) … He paused, looking at me with serious disdain. “What exactly did you hope to hear from me?” (--silence—)“Because nothing I say ever seems good enough for you.-- The level of anxiety you have," he shook his head and then just looked at me with a look that said, "you're an awful person"
At this, an internal shift happened inside me. I felt a huge distressing "wailing" rising up inside of me, but I had to stifle it and take control of it. I knew I had to walk out of the medical complex past other patients and personnel, past a big fancy lobby that is crowded with people coming and going. I had to walk outside into my community as my work office is just across the street. I knew I could very well see anyone I work with or personally know in the halls and elevators of the building. The "professional me" who deals with difficult work scenarios took over and calmly and quietly (and submissively as possible) asked, "are you saying you have hurt feelings?"
He put his hand on his chest, and said "yes, sometimes I feel hurt." I quietly nodded and looked at him with submission and a calm demeanor. He handed me the paper, and said "put that away. Your time is up. " The look on his face is hard to describe. Detest is the only word I can use. I felt "detested." I was lost and I was confused. I was mostly mortified, humiliated, and ashamed.
I walked out of the room. I walked into the elevator. Inside the lobby I walked past the four greeters at the info-desk who smiled and said, goodbye. I nodded back at them, walked out into the sunshine. I walked to my car.
Unfortunately, standing next to my car I felt another part of me inside, I felt very detached from this person who was me, very stupidly, foolishly, yet very calmly called his voicemail and said, "You asked me what I had hoped to hear from you and I think I had hoped to hear 'thank you for sharing that' and 'im sorry you went through that.' That's what I think I was hoping to hear." I hung up the phone, and I got in my car and drove away. To do this day I have absolutely ZERO memory of where I drove to or what I did next.